Scorched Wings
by fakescorpion
Summary: Spoilers for 5x04. An attempt at altering the fate of humanity in the universe of The End. WARNINGS of one-sided love, violence, sex, a fallen angel that's stoned insane, and a homicidal observer with conflicted emotions. DISCONTINUED.
1. The Dead Amongst the Living

_disclaimer: I don't own SPN or any of its characters._

_Inspired by the story _The Ghosts that Haunt Us _by _Daylight_._

_Spoilers for 5x04. Set in the alternate universe of The End. As the angels left and the Croatoan virus raged, humans were alone to face the Apocalypse and all seemed lost. But maybe…Hope was just lurking behind a closed door waiting, and there was still one chance to alter the final fate of humanity though it lied with a risk like playing with fire._

_Castiel, the only angel to remain in the face of Satan, slowly showed signs of falling prey to mental illnesses until he started to think there was somebody watching him just out of sight. But was it really a mere hallucination caused by drug abuse like everyone claimed or was it actually possible to be something more…real? Strongly implied one-sided Castiel/Dean. WARNINGS of violence, sex with dead body, an unusual way of raping, and an insane fallen angel with possible suicidal tendency and paranoid __predicament__._

* * *

_**Scorched Wings**_

**Part I. The Dead Amongst the Living (from Cas' POV)**

He had felt it the moment it happened. Sam had said 'yes' in Detroit.

Things all spiral downwards after that.

The deadly Croatoan virus spread. Fast and furious. Turning the world into a place where the main populations were zombies.

They–that was to say Dean and Castiel–gathered the survivors. Chuck the prophet met up with them soon after. Then there was Rufus and other hunters, but they were too late to get to Bobby.

To make the matters worse, the angels left. Forsaken Earth and humanity.

It was the day that decided the ultimate doom of…of everything.

That was also the day when he jerked out of his trance and suddenly gasped for air like a fish out of water. His chest pained terribly as his lungs struggled to do the work they had long ago thought needless–breathe.

Castiel's angelic abilities had been drained bit by bit since the day he turned his back on his brothers–rebelled, even killed brethrens for the sake of Dean Winchester–but no, never at this shocking rate. He could only watch in silent horror as his wings fell apart and crumbled.

He grew weak, so weak and for the first time acquainted with exhaustion. Less than two weeks after, he realized his throat had been suffering from dryness–namely thirst–and finally a week later, he noticed the burning sensation in the stomach and the need for food if wanting to continue.

Now, eating, drinking, sleeping and _breathing_ had become necessities to survival.

Survival.

The only thing that mattered now.

* * *

He was miserable. Consuming large quantity of liquor to numb the lost, the gapping emptiness that was the reminder of the angels' abandonment, a reminder of just how alone he was in this barely-alive world. Beer, brandy, whisky, vodka, tequila…but soon, even alcohol weren't enough to make him forget.

He didn't get enough sleep. It wasn't a thing he used to do and usually, he stayed conscious for so long he would suddenly jerk awake in the middle of something without realizing he had crossed the border to sleep. Dean told him once that he was sleepwalking; it was the result of having too little sleep, awake and asleep at the same time. Dean also told him to stop and get some actual rest before he suddenly drop unconscious on a mission and get people killed. He told his fearless leader he would try.

It wasn't long after did Dean threw him a small jar of pills.

"Quit moaning." Dean had said, not really looking at him. "Do us all a favor and put yourself together."

So Cas took them–he was never one to refuse Dean of…of anything–it might had started from simple sleeping pills and other medicines for mental illness like tranquilizer, but it was definitely the reason he somehow one day found himself addicted to heroin and amphetamine and quite a lot of different drugs.

He almost–accidently and deliberately–killed himself from substance abuse when Dean was gone for days on a raid and he thought the fearless leader dead, then later found himself beat to an inch of death with bruises all over his chest and legs, chained in the cabin making the promise never to do that again. He wasn't angry though because Dean had come back. Even if in a foul mood.

Before he knew it, Dean had become the only thing that kept him alive.

Maybe. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, the missing of his once upon heavenly brothers. Or maybe it was his strange obsession of wanting to know Dean was there. Whatever the reason, he started to think he was seeing things.

The first time he actually slept–collapsed–in bed, he thought there was someone watching him nearby.

"Dean…" Cas called out weakly, not sure whether he was awake or dreaming. It didn't really matter to him anymore. "Dean, are you there?"

There was no answer so he thought himself dreaming.

Dean had been especially harsh being the fearless leader he was so Cas' shotgun going off–nearly costing him his life and hurt a poor soul who just happened to stand behind him at the time–in one of those shooting practices at the camp was enough to sent him yelling at the ex-angel for hurting his man on one of those absurd suicide attempts.

It wasn't a suicide attempt but Dean didn't believe him.

Similar incidents–accidents–followed but all rather mild compared with that time with the shotgun. Tripping over the wire causing wooden crates to fell over, tree branches snapped over his head nearly hitting him, finding the whisky bottles broken in his cabin when returned leaving a large mass of wine and shreds of glass all over…it was until when he found nails on his bed late one night did he thought that maybe, _maybe_ somebody in the camp wanted him dead.

He didn't know what to do.

That was why he found himself standing outside of Dean's cabin in the middle of the night, looking lost.

"What do you want?" Dean asked grumpily when he opened the door, he wasn't happy–who was this days?

Cas was about to said his worries, was about to ask for help, anything…but he then noticed there was sweat streaming down Dean's bare chest. Suddenly, he was wondering who was it that was in the cabin with the fearless leader, he was also curious why he care. He didn't say anything that day as he strolled back to his own wooden hut. Feeling hurt.

The thing was, Dean didn't care much about him anymore. He was the leader of this camp and had a voice in pretty much all the refugee camps throughout the nearby states, the lives of the remaining hundred of people was a responsibility weigh down on his shoulder. He didn't need a wasted, paranoid, possibly suicidal ex-angel to add up to his mountain loads of problems.

Still, he was hurt and he didn't know why.

Cas met Selene not a week later. She was a nice girl in mid-twenties with dark hair and was new to the camp.

When she showed up at his doorstep one afternoon, he was immediately suspicious of her intentions. Usually his only visitor was Chuck–ranting about no longer having visions–and sometimes Dean–ranting about everything else. Most people in the camp tend to leave him alone, thought him an ordinary junkie–it seemed pointless to inform people what he used to be since he wasn't anymore–with hallucinating tendency. He didn't, but maybe he did as he still thought there was somebody watching him when he slept. Chuck had told him it wasn't him and confirmed it wasn't Dean but it didn't stop him from believing it.

All in all, he didn't know what to do with Selene.

He didn't know what to do so he let the girl do whatever she pleased. He couldn't think of a more pathetic way to loose his virginity.

As he lied, staring blankly at the wooden ceiling with a girl resting on his chest, he felt the intensive glare again and suddenly he was jerking awake. He didn't realize he had fallen asleep. Sitting up, he looked out the dirty glass window and saw a small flare of light coming from within the leader's cabin. He wondered who was Dean sleeping–fucking–with then.

Again, he didn't understand why he cared.

He volunteered on a supply run the following morning which surprised everyone. It wasn't the first raid he went on since becoming this much like human–though most people didn't know–but it was the first one in a couple of weeks. And more importantly? Dean wouldn't be coming. This got people wondering what has gotten into him as he never went anywhere if without their leader.

Maybe it had something to do with what happened the night before. The night spent with Selene.

Maybe…

Cas didn't know. He just didn't want to see Dean for a few days.

It was a seven hours drive to the next refugee camp that was a bit smaller than Chitaqua. There, they planned to stay for the night and in the morning, raid the town three hours away for possible food and hygiene supply.

He met a man by the name of Daniel that was second in command there.

Maybe it was because of the name. The man was named after an angel, one of the first angels in fact to be known to man.

Maybe it was because of his nevertheless cheerful personality in these dark times.

Maybe because he had green eyes that kind of looked like Dean's.

Maybe…

So many 'maybe's and Cas couldn't remember since when did he became so unsure in his life.

That was why he found himself somehow lying on the hard mattress in a cabin smaller than his, with a man kissing him.

It was his first kiss for Selene didn't kiss him–not once–when they fuck.

But the guy was almost qualified as a total stranger. Wasn't the Daniel he knew. Nor was he Dean.

That didn't mean he wanted to kiss Daniel or anything. They were no more than what humans called nodding-acquaintance when he had still been 'up in Heaven' and only knew the angel was specially good at decipher–even manipulate–dreams and had a thing with lions. Not like Asasiel who shared the same job as Thursday angels and had quite some to talk about during their shifts. Or Uriel who belonged to the same garrison and had partnered with for a couple of centuries.

No.

But if it were Dean…would he mind?

"Thinking about someone?"

Cas blinked when he heard the human Daniel asked, he didn't realized he had gone all stiff and held up his arms like a barrier.

"No! I mean…yes." The ex-angel muttered, still not putting his hands down. Then–in an afterthought–added, "I was thinking about a few actually."

Daniel laughed at that, not the least angry.

"I was thinking about someone else, too." He admitted, then with voice dropping a key and smile disappearing from his face, he continued, "Jonathan died three months ago, you reminded me of him."

"But I'm not." Cas said, too quickly. "I'm not…you know, him."

"I know." Daniel gave a sideward glance before sitting up. "I wouldn't force you if you don't want it."

"Want what?"

Daniel laughed again–it was a sound Cas enjoyed listening to–looking down at the man with quizzing blue eyes who made no move of getting up and gestured between them. "This."

Cas furrowed his eyebrows looking around like he was searching for answers while trying to recall the conversation they had before entering the cabin. "You want to have an intercourse with me." It was half-way between a question and a statement.

"One way of putting it."

"You're a man."

"Last time I checked, yeah."

"But…it's a sin." It was a truth but also a mistake, saying that. Cas knew it the moment Daniel got up with a flustered look on his face.

"Look. If you don't bend that way, you could at least say something just now."

Cas was genuinely confused. "I'm sorry I upset you."

"No, never mind." Daniel let out a sigh. "If you want somewhere else to stay the night, I could hook you up with Lindsey or…Alice if she's still free."

"You don't allow me to stay?"

"I thought you don't bend that way."

"I…am just tired."

Cas didn't think he had said anything funny but somehow it set Daniel into laughter again. It was a good thing the guy had nice heart.

They still shared a bed that night though without the said intercourse.

But Daniel assured him he could always change his mind. And they have time–lots of time–after the raid tomorrow.

Cas said nothing as he lied on the other man's chest, eyes closed, listening to the slow calming of the heart-beat waiting for the sleep that had always seemed to evade him. He thought he felt finger tips rubbing–almost caressing–the back of his neck. The touch was gentle though cold but nevertheless felt nice. And, unintentionally, he wrapped his arms around the other man's waist and imagined himself cuddling the Winchester he had grown to care.

He traveled in a small pick-up with Ryan and Ashley who also belonged to Camp Chitaqua the following day while Daniel drove a van with another three men from their camp. They set off just after sunrise and arrived at the outskirt around noon. He might have dozed off somewhere in the trip without his knowing because he was shook awake by Ashley with a concerned look on her face when they arrived.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. It's just…I'm fine." Cas blinked into consciousness, dry swallowed two mysterious pills from the medicine jar in his pocket before jumping off the truck and walked to Daniel who was consulting a map.

"There's a drugstore down the road to the left, a supermarket two blocks away to the right and a gas station in the same direction across the street, but the main roads were totally blocked so we have to park our cars right here." Daniel was saying while pointing the red marks on the street map. "It's best we split up here. Nathan, you guard the cars with…Ryan right?"

Ryan nodded, loading his shotgun to show he was ready.

"Okay, Rowdy, Owen come with me to the supermarket. Ashley, Cas to the drugstore. Remember, take just enough. Don't hesitate to shoot if you see any Croats crawling around."

Cas held his pistol at ready and followed Ashley to the relatively close drugstore. It was a fairly simple job for there was only a Croat in the store and two around the backdoor and Ashley took them out without a problem and he was left free to raid the store of supplies. They went back and forth a few times until the truck was properly loaded and ready to go.

"Where's your guys?" Ashley asked Nathan after a couple of minutes of waiting.

"They're on their third run but it's taking kind of long this time." The van driver answered with an uneasy edge in his voice.

"We should go if something already happened to them." Ryan started the engine. "Unless somebody wanted to go check if they're still in one piece and had a mind of their own."

"I'll go then." Cas volunteered after a thought. "Give me twenty minutes."

"Be careful." Ashley said as she climbed onto the back of the truck with the loaded supplies. "The streets are too empty it's unnatural."

Cas nodded and he set off down the different street. He met the two guys Daniel took with halfway to the market, one carrying canned food in a large bag and another holding his weaponry at the ready.

"Where's Daniel?"

"He went to the gas station for gasoline supplies."

"Alone?" Cas cursed under his breath.

"Don't worry. We didn't even see so much as a stray dog that way down town." The man handling the gun–who Cas didn't even bother memorizing his name–assured. "It's kindda surprise considering this place used to be piling with so many Croats two months ago that it was too dangerous for trespassing."

Cas narrowed his eyes, didn't like the sound of it one bit. "You should return to the vehicles."

"No need telling us about it."

"And leave if I…we didn't return in due notice." He didn't wait for a response as he hurried down the street, only hoped they caught the trepidation in his tone.

It was quiet like told when he stepped through the shattered glass front door of the annex store of the gas station. So eerily quiet it was way beyond unusual.

"Daniel?" He whispered as he checked every aisle and rounded the back and…

The man he was looking for was standing right in front of the broken glass fridge head downcast.

Cas let out a breath, letting his guard down and walking up. "Hey, you really got us worried…" The ex-angel began but trailed off when he saw blood trickling down the other man's left forearm. "Are you…hurt?"

Daniel turned looking at him with bloodshot eyes and lashed out without further warning.

Cas reacted by jumping a step back, took a freezing breath and aimed his pistol…

But the gun jammed as he pulled the trigger.

What the fuc–

Daniel practically leaped onto him, slamming him into the shelf, knocking chips and jars and everything over, the useless pistol flying out of reach. Before he knew it, human teeth sank deep into Cas' bare neck drawing blood.

Muffling a surprised yelp, he reached desperately for anything to defend himself with and his fingertips touched a piece of glass shard. It was enough for him–as a former blade wielding soldier of Heaven–to cut through Daniel's cervical vertebra, severing the neck and reducing the man who had a chance of becoming a friend into nothing more than an unmoving pile of flesh and bones.

"…fuck…" Cas panted, wincing slightly as he peeled glass shards off his raw palm and fingers. He rested his eyes for a sec, noting himself lying between two sets shelves, back-to-back with one that was crashed and fell over halfway only by leaning against the far wall, with a dead body across his lap and an open neck human-bite injury accompanied by bloodied fingers.

Things just got worse when the shelf carrying utensils right in front of him started to top over.

NoNoNo…

Cas tried to back off and–as climbing the slanted shelf the only way to go–hooked his shredded fingers around the higher layers of the shelf he was leaning against, trying to shove himself up, all the while refusing to think of how pathetically useless he had become. But Daniel was too heavy and was weighing him down. The result was him only managing to free a leg before the shelf finally collapsed, trapping his another leg–the right one–under.

He didn't even have enough strength to yell when the bones in his foot snapped.

Why me?

It was a silly thought as the crashed shelf revealed the two Croats responsible for the feat standing right behind. And–since he now also had a clear view through the shattered front door as most of the shelves had fell over–Cas could see the station outside now swarming with walking zombies. Twenty, thirty, maybe more.

Why was it the fucking _me_?

As the Croats turned running in the direction of the annex store, Cas pulled the safety pin off a hand grenade and chuck it at the front.

There was a deafening explosion and half the store was brought down with it. There were animalistic screams of frustration as most of the Croats were either blocked outside or sacrificed under the ruins. But four of them made it through, joining their two mates.

Cas closed his eyes waited for the inevitable, knowing he was either going to be eaten or turned into a Croat in the next few minutes.

He was beyond caring now.

And the six Croats threw themselves onto the trapped fallen angel like crows attracted to fresh road kills.

Notched nails tore at his garments exposing skin. Teeth sank, blood gushed, skin was clawed and peeled. Neck, shoulder, arm, stomach…the vile floor was painted an inky red. An inky sickening red.

He was been eaten alive.

He didn't realize he'd been crying.

And he heard gun-shots. Nearby yet distantly.

Impossible but still. He hoped Dean had come to save him.

He hoped.

There was so much pain. Cuts and gashes and bruises and broken bones.

And he felt a pair of freezing, chapped lips against his.

Light like feather at first were the kisses but slowly, they turned demanding as whoever it was bit his lower lips. Cas was still panting–from the pain and lost of blood–unintentionally allowing the other person to intrude his mouth, easily drawing if not tasting his breath, turning his pant into gasp.

A hand grabbed the back of his head as cold fingers ran down his bare chest, resting finally on his hipbone. It was the hands of a man.

Dean…

Cas whimpered against another kiss. Too weak to push the man away.

It was not Dean. He knew it like he knew he should open his eyes and see who was raping him in a place like this.

The cold lips left his mouth then but only move onto his bloodied neck, licking, sucking, kissing the red mess away.

Maybe he was being raped by a Croat.

Cold fingers slide under his remaining tattered garments, caressing the bare skin on his shoulder blades and along the spine, making him arch his back without knowing.

Maybe it was Daniel.

It felt warm, hot even. It was strange as the fingers touching him were so cold.

Tongue trailed across his chest and down his stomach, causing him to gasp more heavily. He raised a hand and thought he felt the soft fabric of dress shirt as he lean into the touch. He let out an almost pleasurable yelp as a kiss landed on a sensitive spot under his waist.

His brain was having trouble processing information.

The concept of place and time and people were all mangled together. A half-collapsed ruined store. Probably in the middle of the day. Dead bodies. Croats.

This was _wrong_. Wrong yet still he kept his eyes shut. He was way beyond help anyway so he could blame it all on dying. Way beyond caring.

No, maybe he still did care. But he just wanted to pretend.

Maybe it was all his mind now.

He let his thoughts drifted to Dean.

It felt so nice he didn't want it to stop.

Maybe it was only minutes, minutes that stretched on like hours. Or maybe it was really hours, hours that flew like minutes. Cas didn't know. He felt lost and out of place and seemed to be suffering from a mild amnesia. And alone.

Alone.

Alone and trapped under a fallen shelf in the middle of a half-collapsed convenient store, with a racing heart-beat, a soaring body temperature…and a hard on he only just realized he had.

Then he remembered being raped…maybe.

He looked around. There was blood. Lots of blood. And seven dead bodies practically burying him. The one that looked like it were dragged–yanked–away lie in a tangled mess not far to the left and were stabbed from the back by silverware. Another three were wounded in a similar but more brutal way with ribs ripped apart and intestines falling out. An arm amputated from the shoulder with crooked fingernails hung limply from his wrist, body nowhere in sight. The one with teeth still buried deep into his right forearm were rained with poorly aimed bullets and blood were still streaming steadily from a hole on the temple.

And there was Daniel, lying motionless on–between–his legs with most of his lifeless body under the shelf.

Everything was quiet and he was alone.

He was alone, lying with a pile of corpses, and aroused.

And having no idea how to release the tension that had now felt more like pain than pleasure. He'd never masturbated before he didn't know what he should do.

This tortured like _hell_. He wanted to do at least _something_.

Frowning, he pressed his lips hard together–but still almost moaned–as he tried moving his right-hand fingers. The bones cracked as fresh blood dripped from newly opened wounds of barely healed cuts. The pain was unbelievable. He panted, waited for a few seconds to catch his breath, then this time bending his whole arm until his hand rested just above the buckle of the rough leather belt.

Now what?

He thought invalidly as he undid the front of his pants and for a moment actually prayed the tension would go away.

Not that it would help any.

Then he remembered Selene.

Selene had done it before, helping him release by…

He racked his brain for the answer.

By…

He coughed, spitting blood.

Before–when he was relatively sober–he was unable to comprehend the motive behind her act of…putting his dick into her mouth.

Right.

That was what she did then.

Cas tried to sit up but only managed to put himself into a half-leaning sitting position as he was still practically stuck. It was enough though and slowly, he turned the dead man's–Daniel's–head around and eased open his blackened lips. He hesitated, once.

It was the only way he knew.

"It seems we really did have a lot of time." He whispered, looking into the dead green eyes that so like Dean's, fingers running through the blood soaked hair and down the severed neck. "But again, maybe not as much."

They kissed. For a long time.

"I'm sorry."

And he buried his flesh into the dead man's mouth and fucked into the corpse. Again and again.

It was pain. Not pleasure. Pain on the torso and limbs, pain on his body. Pain in the heart and soul, pain in his mind.

But he didn't stop as blood mixed with sweat and fell like rain.

He choked when orgasm was reached and it was then did he realize his eyes were swollen red and wet. He had been crying.

And crying.

And crying.

This was life now. What could one do other then accept? And most of the time, early death seemed like blessing.

Seemed.

And it seemed, just before he lose conscious in oblivion, he saw.

There was somebody watching him. Closely. Intensely. Carefully.

Watching. All the while.

He blinked awake when heard an ear-splitting crash and for an instant thought the building had finally gave away under its own weight. It didn't though as he squint his eyes in the dull early morning sunshine that was streaming in, waiting for the flying dust to settle. It was then did he realize somebody–something–had opened up a walkway through the rubbles.

He wasn't sure he was entirely happy with that.

And there they were, a couple–a young woman in torn nightgown with a deeply scared face that might once looked lovely and a much older man with equally ripped clothing–with the bloodshot eyes of Croats walking through steadily.

Cas barked out an empty laugh when the realization hit that he couldn't even die in peace. A sharp piece of glass in hand and dry swallowing two pills, he let himself fly high with a crazy glint in his eyes. He wasn't going down without a fight.

"Come and get me you bastards." He hissed.

Strangely though, the two Croats stopped a few feet away, eyeing their fallen companions warily in a disturbing way. It was _not_ a normal flesh-eating zombie behavior.

"What? Afraid now?" Cas shouted with a new pitch in his voice, not sure why was he baiting them–maybe he did want a quick death after all–ignorant of the unusual actions of the Croats due to drugs' numbing effect.

It was then did the two Croats flash him with menacing eyes that were blacker than the deepest night.

Somehow, the revelation caused him to laugh again. Empty. Hollow.

"So now demons are possessing Croats? That is clearly news to me." It always felt good to be flying high even if his body remained earth-bound. Though sometimes, it made him giddy and over-confident. "Bet Lucifer treats you real well!"

"Keep your jeers to yourself. You don't seem to be leading any life yourself, _angel_." The man spitted out like it was venom and stepped forward angrily, not the least like to be taunted but stopped when the young lady held out a hand.

"You know we needed him so don't act childish."

This threw Cas into a renewed fit of laughter. Everything seemed to be so funny and so empty and so empty and so _empty_. "Did I heard right? You needed _me_?"

The lady narrowed her eyes. "We came and laid a trap here for an angel, but what has happened to you?" She asked not with concern but amusement. And–after giving it a thought–added, "My dear Clarence?"

Cas nodded his head twice and again failed to pull himself from under the shelf before he made note to what had just been said. "Meg?" He asked and smirked. "What a wonderful Heaven you got here."

"You're in no position to make fun of us."

"And why is that? It's not like I have any more minutes to live." He held up the glass shard like dagger. "So what do you possibly want from me anyway? To laid a trap like this?"

"Our father isn't happy." Meg stated.

"Ah right! I told you before that Lucifer won't enjoy your company." Cas chuckled in an insane way. "He was–still is–an angel and is the most beautiful and proudest one at that! How can you _possibly_ believe he could live with your stink?"

"That's not true." The demon said with all the anger. "He is our father!"

"And how do you explain your misery?"

"He is only punishing us because he is upset."

"By what exactly?"

"I would think that you know."

Cas didn't understand. Not until he unintentionally looked skyward–it was becoming a habit now like a vagrant longing for a faraway home–in hope of finding an answer did it suddenly occurred to him what it was. "Like me, he was abandoned."

And he shrieked with laughter as the realization hit, but this time was so much more hysterical. "And what is it that you want? You want _me_ to lick on his wounds?"

"Like it or not, our father is the only family you have left." Meg tried to reason. "Why not just serve your best interest and come with us?"

A sense of déjà vu washed over the ex-angel as he recalled a similar conversation with the Morning Star so long ago but he–like before–shook his head. "No."

"Why not?" Meg asked, the answer–though noble–was unexpected.

"Why not? _Why not?_" Cas mimicked in an almost-mocking way, and quite suddenly changed his tone and hissed, "I'm here, bloodied and broken, trapped under a freaking shelf at your mercy, hapless, helpless, and all powerless. And you know what? _He_ did this to me!"

"I'm trying to make you see reason…"

"Save your breath for someone else." Cas tried to free himself again but still to little avail–didn't stop him from lashing out vocally though as he said, "If you want me then come and bite me you bitch."

"You've changed so much since our last time." Slowly, Meg approached but halted her steps as she eyed the bloody mess with caution–as if, somehow, it made her anxious.

"What?" Cas asked, still in the drug-induced merry tone. "Demons scared of a bit of blood spill?"

The demon possessing the older man opened his mouth about to say something but before he could, all three of them heard distant shouting. Somebody was coming, and by the sound of it, it was a lot of somebody.

"Go check out who are coming this way." Meg flexed a finger in the general direction to the outside. "Waste them if you must."

"Sure. But what 'bout him?" The man asked, pointing.

"I'll deal with him." Meg answered, turning her back to her departing companion and with much ease, used her super-demon-strength to lift the shelf and freed the trapped ex-angel.

"Wha–?" Cas stuttered but before he could string together a sentence, a smack in the head knocked him out cold.

Another blackout that made him lose track of time but he woke with a start as he felt a cold touch on his cheek. He winced as bright light flashed into his eyes as if someone just flicked on a lighter to check his pupil reflexes.

"He's alive."

Someone said. There was the sound of heavy footsteps and Cas thought he saw a pair of stunning hazel-green eyes.

Dean…

It made him wanted to cry again as he wondered whether it was real or just a dream. Oh but the hand that landed on his forehead felt so warm…

And he freaked.

"Don't! Don't touch me, Dean!" Cas screamed, suddenly all awake and arms swaying like broken windmill. "I'm covered in Croatoan blood!"

"Cas…"

"I'm going to died anyway I'm not taking anyone with me!"

"Cas…"

"Just leave me alone!"

"Cas!" Dean raised his voice ever so slightly and brayed in the indignant but not indiscriminate way of his, instantly threatened the whole of his men into silence, all the while grabbing–accidently tearing–the front of the ex-angel's battered clothing. "Shut your pie-hole and calm down! We've got to get you into bandages before we move you anywhere."

Cas obeyed instinctively like a wounded sparrow cringing with fear under a fierce hawk's stare, but not before he heard someone said something along the lines of 'infected' and 'Croatoan blood' in the background.

"He might be immune to it so shut up and get moving!" Dean shouted over his shoulders without so much as turning around, not stopping his work with the first-aid either.

But apparently whoever it was, were thick enough to dare challenge the leader's authority again as he countered with 'Nobody is immune to Croatoan blood' in such confidence.

It caused Dean to finally turn around and practically sneered at–as it turned out to be–Stephen, first in command of Daniel's camp.

"For your information, Cas _isn't_ just anybody."

"But if it is a danger–"

"I assure you _he_ won't be." Dean said, and–after a slight satisfying nod at the bandage work–placed an arm under the powerless supernatural being's knees and another held onto his small shoulder, supporting him behind his back, and finally lifting the slender man up with enough ease. The tiny speck of protectiveness and care in his voice and action were enough to brought tears into the former angel's eyes.

"How can you be sure?" Stephen glared in suspicion and flinched in disgust when Cas involuntarily coughed blood.

"I can't, but he won't be your business should trouble arises." Dean put it like it was the end of discussion and thankfully, the other man didn't have the gut to retort the third time.

"We're moving out!"

There were lots of shuffling feet as people hurried around, not wasting any time in following direct orders. And Dean took the chance turning his attention to the seemly startled man in his arms.

"Dean…" Cas whispered, in shock. "Why are you here?"

"It was Ryan." The taller man put it simply, not keen on into the details. "We didn't expect to find you alive."

"Oh."

"Cas," Dean looked down–for the first time in a long time–into the blue eyes that had once possessed an ethereal depth, and asked in a near-husky voice with a hint of uncertainty, "do you…"

"What?" Cas murmured, relaxing himself into the crook of the leader's neck.

Dean licked his lips–so unlike him to do so, an act of nervousness–and spared a quick glance at the blood coated surroundings before continued, "Do you still have your wings?"

It caught the ex-angel off guard. "Why?"

"No, never mind."

And that was that. With one final lingering glance at the dark bloody mess, Dean took Cas away from the nightmarish building.

_I__'m sorry._

Cas wanted to say.

_I__'m sorry I__'m not an angel any more._

But it wouldn't make any difference. So he kept his silence.

They returned to Camp Chitaqua soon after and he was practically dumped back into his cabin to mourn alone the moment they got back. One reason was people were still wary of him turning into a Croat any minute, another was there had been a demon captured in the assault, perfect for interrogating the whereabouts of the Colt or Lucifer himself.

Even if Dean never said it out loud, Cas had always knew he blamed himself for missing that shot so many years ago in Carthage. Losing the Colt again was one thing but what wounded the hunter most was the death of Ellen and Jo Harvelle.

Thinking back, it might have all started that night. Dean walking down the long road and turning himself into the cold-blooded killer he was now.

And sometimes–especially lying alone in a long sleepless night–Cas would wonder if Sam had been with them that day at Carthage, would it made a difference?

But it was all worthless ponderings that would only result in headaches.

Which he got quite a lot since returned to the camp.

Chuck kept him company sometimes when he came to help with changing the bandages and cleaning the wounds, which was the only thing he could look forward to during his slow recovery. Usually, the former prophet brought plenty of liquor–and some stronger substance–to keep the ex-angel happy. Something bit different happened throw off this routine-life, however, when the shorter man showed up one day with Selene and two other young ladies about two weeks after the incident and somehow, the girls came up with a persuasive excuse to stay afterwards. All with indulgent smiles on their faces.

It was the human way of cheering people up. It seemed.

But Cas wasn't pleased.

Wasn't really.

So he ended up, alone and inexplicable frightened, coiling on his moth-eaten bed glaring with mistrust and not-needed-hostility. "What?" He demanded the second the former prophet left.

Whatever the girls were expecting, it definitely wasn't this kind of enmity treatment. They looked at each other uncertainly before Selene finally turned, wearing an amicable but resolute smile.

"It was the talking. People said you are immune to the Croatoan virus." She began. "Is it true?"

Cas didn't answer right away as he fiddled with an empty beer bottle and on purposely tipped it off the edge of the bed and let it smash on the floor.

Playing with broken toys.

How like the Morning Star.

"I'm still me."

"So…are you human?"

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Well…" Selene took it as a cue and moved forward an inch. "A lot of reasons. No known human were immune to the Croatoan virus for one, at least no known human until now."

"Is that so?" Cas chose to omit, turning away.

"I hadn't been here all that long but there were other things." Selene pressed. "People were bound to notice if something were off."

"Inform me about it if you must." was the reply, not at all interested.

"You don't eat enough."

This caught the ex-angel's attention. "What gives you the idea?"

"Edwina," She gently patted one of her friend on the shoulder, earning her an unsure look, "worked with Chuck for quite some time. She…um…heard things."

Cas stared, intrigued, until the young lady grew uneasy and finally broke eye-contact. It was then did he bark a hollowed laugh. "It didn't matter, I'm human _now_." He emphasized the last word.

"You weren't before?"

"It didn't matter."

"What were you before?"

"It didn't matter."

"Did anyone know about it? Did Dean know?"

"It didn't matter for God's sake!" Cas hissed and suddenly caught himself–for the first time ever–using the Lord's name in vain. And at that instant, he felt soiled, tarnished even more than the time he buried himself in drugs or alcohol or…women. The word tasted like poison on his tongue, marking himself crossing the final demarcation into humanity.

"If you–"

"Get out!" Cas brusquely cut her off, finger pointing at the doorway. "Get out, all of you! Get out of my sight!"

"No need to yell." Selene said, offended, just before following her friends out the door. There was a determined glint in her amber eyes.

It was dark out but the three girls stayed together in the faint glows of the dimly lit lamps in the camp for a short while until they finally parted and went their separate ways. Cas watched them go through the dirty glass window but didn't pay much attention to them afterwards as he was sure they would be fine…until a shadow drifted across the corner of his eyes and he saw Selene retrace her steps.

But she didn't waste time coming through his door again. It wasn't what she had in mind. There were other ways to get answers after all.

So instead, she went to the leader's cabin.

And Cas watched as Dean opened the door and allowed the young lady in.

And he watched.

And watched.

And _watched_.

It was a long time before the lights in the–their–cabin go off. An even longer time before the ex-angel shifted his gaze away.

Somehow, he knew they did more than talking.

He took a freezing breath that fogged the thin glass window and hadn't realized he's been clutching the windowsill so hard, he bled.

Cas didn't want stay in his cabin the following day so he made himself a simple crutch to go for a walk. He knew it would be a difficult task for his present physical condition–he grimace when he took the first few steps–but he still went on with it through sheer volition.

It was just one of those random, arbitrary ideas. But he wanted to do something to convince himself he wasn't totally useless.

The day was still young and some early risers walked by showing no further reaction than sparing a glance at the sight of a wounded and bandaged man in crutch dragging himself around the outskirt of the camp.

Cas rounded a long way to avoid the leader's cabin though he didn't know why. He let his instinct guide him as there wasn't a destination in mind and he somehow found himself at the place he least likely to be. In front of the old wooden barn-like building that now served as a prison. For interrogating demons.

He hesitated. He always knew such a place existed–it wasn't like Dean kept it a secret–but had just always avoided acknowledge it. This place was like a stain, a mark. A reminder that the person he had trusted so implicitly was no longer there.

It hurt.

And he made to turn away. Like so many times before.

But a weak sound, a whimper of a voice, came from the inside made he changed his mind. He laid a hand on the cool metal door and easily it swung soundlessly opened.

"…I've al…told you everything…can't…don't know…"

A string of meaningless words. Soft and broken.

"…let me died…please…"

A Devil's Trap painted on the floor and in the middle of it was the old man that had laid that trap with Meg.

"…no more…"

The old man, stripped naked, lying on a rusted rack, with a cruel-looking bloodied mark carved onto his chest to prevent him from abandoning the human host.

"…please…"

Peels of skin were falling off revealing the tender skin underneath.

"…please…no more…"

It was the voice of unadulterated horror.

But still, Cas slowly approached until he was standing just beside. It shocked him how Dean could torture such an old man for so many hours even long after he had spilt his secrets.

"…please…"

"Shh…" Cas whispered, amazed at finding himself feeling sorry for the _thing_ from Hell. "I'm not Dean."

The man blinked with much difficulty. So uncertain. So afraid.

"I'm…Cas."

A blood-clad finger twitched. "Cast…el?"

How it hurt to hear that name again. How ironically of it to come from the mouth of a demon.

Cas laughed. A capricious, hypocritical laugh.

"That guy is long gone."

The finger twitched again. "…no…Cast…el…you…"

"What is it that you want?" Cas leaned in and let his bemusement show.

"…kill…me…"

Cas tilted his head–he didn't seemed to do it often anymore–perplexed. "Why would I do that?"

"…you…re…an…gel…"

At that he frowned almost sure he hadn't heard it correctly. "You're out of your mind."

"…I prayed…you…came…"

"Demons don't pray." The ex-angel replied with a hint of abhor, turning away.

"…not…I…Wallace…Vardon…"

This caught him by surprise. Was it possible that the demonic possession allowed the infected human few moments of sanity? Short instance of consciousness and returned to his own mind only for…only for him to cry for help? To beg for the death that seemed only out of reach.

It made his gut twist.

"I'm not an angel anymore." Cas said, lying his palm on the tortured man's forehead and felt the whole body tremble, if not sorry for the demon then sorry for the human caged within. But of course there was no flash of light. He had long ago lost the ability to exorcise demons.

"I'm…sorry."

He could only say with remorse.

And there was a low sound from behind as the metal swung open again.

He turned, quickly daggled himself out of possible harm's way.

But not before he gave Dean a reproachful stare and earning himself an atrocious glare in return.

The sun was just over the zenith when he left the gloomy building but Cas felt that he had quite enough excitement for the day and decided to go back to his cabin. But apparently Selene had something else in mind as she was leaning on his porch waiting for his return with a bored look on her face.

The girl just didn't seem to be willing to leave him alone.

"Why are you here?" Cas asked with obvious pain in his voice.

"I'll leave if you start talking."

The ex-angel threw the crutch aside and collapsed onto the front steps. Somehow found himself with a bottle of half-empty brandy–he might have accidently left it there, outside on the porch, a few weeks ago when he was too drunk he couldn't tell up from down–so he took a sip before saying anything else to the unwanted visitor.

"I'll take it that Dean hadn't told you anything."

"Apparently." Selene sulked.

"Why are you so interested in me?"

"Apart from the good looks?" The girl teased but was rewarded with a frown.

"You know nothing about my looks."

"Fine. Know what? I really like you more when you're not sober." Selene countered, still in the playful note that wasn't returned. But after a few awkward minutes, she gave up and offered an exchange in a more serious tone.

"I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours."

"No deal."

Selene glared. "Okay, it wasn't about me; it was about my sister, a psychic. Are you still not interested?"

"It depends." Cas said. "What kind of psychic?"

The girl slightly bowed her head. "She had this kind of headaches and sometimes heard weird…things. She'd never said when it started but I'm guessing round ten years ago."

"She saw anything?"

"Well yeah. She seemed to have mentioned it once or twice. Thought it only a nightmare but she insisted it was too vivid, like a vision." Selene moved closer to sit beside the mysterious drug-alcohol-addict with a puzzled look on her face. "How did you know that?"

"What's her name?"

"Her name _was_ Marceline." Selene replied. "She died a little over five years ago."

"Marceline…Covington?"

This made Selene gasped. "How did you…?"

"She wasn't a psychic." The ex-angel could feel the young woman's eyes drilling holes through him as he took another long drink. "She was a prophet."

"And you know that, how?"

"You haven't done with your story."

Selene pursed her lips. "Though Marceline and I had always been close, she still made me swore not to repeat the things she told me to another soul, she said there were demons everywhere and…she just didn't trust anyone."

"Your choice." Cas emptied the bottle and wait patiently for the story to continue.

"She died on the twentieth of October in 2008, killed herself, in fact, when she lit her apartment on fire. And…" Selene began but there was a strained pause. "…she sent me a text message forehand that had something to do with the first domino's falling and the coming of the end of the world.

"I thought it was only her being paranoid until I heard about her tragic death." The girl hugged her knees as if to protect herself. "She told me strange things before her death–things that didn't make any sense even now."

The ex-angel just stared off to the side.

"She said I would find what lies at the bottom of Pandora's Box."

"Let me guess, she didn't elaborate."

"She said I would find hope!" Selene suddenly grabbed her listener on the shoulders and looked into those crystal-like blue eyes with so much wonder. "And then I found a man who is immune to the Croatoan virus! You!"

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Yes it does!" Selene insisted. "You're the 'hope' she told me about! I'm sure of it! You can bring us hope!"

There's that bitter taste. And Cas was certain it wasn't from the alcohol. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"I…" This got the girl thinking. About time, too. "I don't know maybe…we could make serum from your blood? Or something?"

"It won't work."

"Why?"

Cas snickered at that. "Because you don't know anything about me."

"Then why don't you start talking?"

"There's nothing to say." He whispered, turning away and shaking off her hands.

"Yes there is! Look at me!" This time Selene seized him by the collar and forced him around. "You're different from the rest of us this I can tell. So why can't you stop moaning for once and see it? If you wanted to be the hapless, hopeless pile of trash you believed you are then so be it, but you could _at least_ not be useless!"

"I am no longer who I used to be." Cas said with much sorrow. How could he expect a human girl–so young and foolish–to understand? "I am powerless and worthless."

"Who says _you_ have the right to decide your worth?"

How astonishing. There was still a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

He sighed, giving in.

"I'll tell you my story."

And just like that. Her face lit up and all exception forgotten.

"But not now." The ex-angel added. "I'm too tired."

"When then?"

"Tonight, if you want." Cas gave a rare smile that made the younger girl blushed a deep shade of red. "You can bring your friends along as well if feel like it, so I won't need to recount the story so many times."

"Oh, okay." Selene nodded, standing up and finally letting go of his wrinkled collar.

Humans still didn't fail to amaze him. Especially in the times like this.

Cas didn't watch her go as he turned and somehow managed to drag himself back into his cabin without the help of crutches.

Powerless. Hapless. Hopeless.

An angel fallen so far he didn't dare to call himself an angel anymore.

He crawled to the bedpost and leaned onto it so the cool steel pillar could partly support his weight as his broken foot was now protesting angrily against its owner mean abuse.

And yet…

Staring absent-mindedly off into the space that appeared empty, he let out a breath so cold it seemed to freeze the static, suffocating air.

_She__'s right you know._

A cold spot. How satiric of him only to notice it after such a long time.

_You__'re different from the rest of us even if you pretend otherwise._

Cas blinked and saw him. Standing right there in the space where it had been nothing but emptiness moments before.

"You've been trying to kill me."

It wasn't a question but the man nodded anyway. The man with clean black leather shoes that hadn't been soiled, pale dress shirt without a stain, and dark suit and indigo colored tie that gave off a melancholy aura. The man in a grayish long trench coat.

_I__'ve hated you._

Cas chose not to comment as he closed his eyes.

_Castiel._

"He's long gone."

_Really?_

Cas opened his eyes again. But the colorless, flickering mirror image of himself was still there, meeting his gaze before shifting the cold glance to the sides. As if something invisible and massive there had caught the man's attention.

"Do I still have them?" The ex-angel wasn't really expecting an answer.

_Your wings?_ The fading man asked._ Yes…and no._

"I can't see them anymore."

_A good thing you can__'t._ The man said, dull and humorlessly._ It was a disturbing sight._

"Don't suppose you will tell me."

_Ashen and burnt. Burnt alive I would say. Scorched down to the very skeletons. _There was a quiet pause as if time itself had stood still._ Funny things' I don__'t think you even do have a skeleton._

Cas laughed. But he was actually crying.

Then gently, the broken angel felt a pair of freezing arms wrapped around his shaking shoulders as the specter knelt between his parted legs. Cold fingers soothed through his messy short hair and frosty chapped lips pressed onto his forehead.

"You wanted me dead."

Cas hiccupped longing for another being's touch, but when he reached out almost desperately, he couldn't meet the other man's flesh and ended up hugging himself in a pitiful way.

_You__'re already dead. A walking corpse hiding amongst the survivors' camp in a lively looking coffin._ The ghost corrected, lips almost touching the other as the words were breathed into the broken angel's ears._ I'm just trying to finish the job._

"You want to do it now?"

_Maybe._

Cas shut his eyes and buried himself into the vengeful spirit's cold embrace.

"Can you spare me another year?"

The request was barely above whisper.

_Give me a good reason._

"I want to bang a few guns before the lights go out."

It sounded like a joke, but it was said in a serious way.

_Dean?_

"The fearless leader? No kidding." Cas mocked, the words taste of loneliness and misery. "Course not."

Flickering hands cupped the broken angel's chin slowly and tilted his head.

The kiss was freezing but pleasant.

Then so abruptly it changed, mingled and woven together with the burning need of the angel's lust for companionship as he leaned in closer.

And Cas could feel the soft fabric of trench coat and dress shirt cool against his bare skin after he let his worn garments fell.

"…thank you…"

A murmur so soft, it lost in the gasps of shallow breaths.

And for the first time, he called the name.

"…Jimmy…"

_To be continued…_

* * *

___OMG! T_his chapter is finally COMPLETE!

_I've never really believe angels could just become humans. Sure, they could rip out their Grace if so choose but no, that wasn't becoming human. In my opinion it was just becoming an empty shell that only happened to look like human. I didn't think of Grace like angel's power but angel's soul._

_As for Castiel's case in the universe of The End? Personally, I think he's dead, literally dead. So I made Jimmy to say it: a dead angel nailed in to a lively coffin. That's where the title of this chapter come from actually._

_Anyway, thx for reading. And please R&R, I really really wanted to know what you think about my work. It's my motivation to keep going._


	2. The Living Amongst the Dead

___disclaimer: I don't own SPN or any of its characters._

_Jimmy, a man forever trapped and frozen by time, watched as the culprit who destroyed his life rot in the body that should have been his until one day realized he had the power to do more than just watching. But was it really resentment that was eating away his soul and…binding him to his flesh? One-sided Jimmy/Castiel and implied one-sided Castiel/Dean. WARNINGS of violence, unintentional sex with a zombie, ghost on angel, and a semi-invisible observer with homicidal subconscious and could feel no sensual pleasure._

_**

* * *

**_

Scorched Wings

**Part II. The Living Amongst the Dead (from Jimmy's POV)**

It took him quite a while to realize he was dead. Ironically.

But one couldn't blame him.

He had grown used to long stretches of memory loss, people ignoring him during the occasional times where he happened to be aware of his surroundings, and–ah, right! After the so-called rebellion and the run in with Jesse Turner the Cambion–seeing Reapers and other supernatural beings. All thanks to his angelic roommate.

After all, they _did_ unintentionally share things–abilities, feelings, emotions–since Castiel started his slow lost of angel powers and couldn't block Jimmy out so well anymore.

Nevertheless, it shocked him still how things could spiral downwards after all that, from bad to worse. For the world. For the angel. For him.

On the day Castiel's once-upon family decided to forsake Earth and all of humanity.

Jimmy could recall there was this nagging feeling at the back of his mind–it was before his death then–when he realize the heavenly being he housed was imperceptibly dying as the angelic powers were rapidly drained away, though he doubt that Castiel–who had long ago grown too stupor to care about his own well being–acknowledge it.

That particular feeling had practically shouted at the human vessel to cast out the intruder since the angel was weak and dying and there was no point playing host anymore.

But sarcastically, Jimmy failed to notice it as the alarm that was warning him he was dying with the renegade angel.

And after all this time, Jimmy still wondered why he hadn't followed his instinct and done it then. And he still wondered whether it was the reason he died.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Nothing much mattered anymore as Jimmy had grown numb to most emotions and senses sometime before or after his death.

Most but not all. For the resentment was there. _Always _there.

Resentment.

The only thing that still meant anything now.

Or so he thought.

* * *

He still remembered the time when he first realized just how different humans and angels were at processing stimulus. He had tried complaining about it before. A lot. Since he had to endure all the physical pain whilst the angel remained almost unaware. And since every pin pricks of the angel's emotion work like a fucking hurricane in his mind whilst his own mental protests were practically ignored.

And like outside stimulus, humans and angels process pain differently as well.

So while Castiel endured a gapping Black Hole that was corroding his very soul and rendering him insane, Jimmy suffered from an ostensible pain so great it felt like he'd got a final stage brain tumor the size of a fist in his head.

And while he'd been mentally screaming himself hoarse for months straight it just amazed him what people could learn to adapt, the angel started on alcoholic beverages and other addictive substances to escape reality.

They died months later, probably sometime after the Host of Heaven's abandonment but before passing Reapers started to give them second glances. Though by that time they'd already been thoroughly mentally raped and physically tortured.

Funny thing was Castiel–who _should_ be an all-knowing angel–hadn't realized he was dead when he died. And Jimmy just couldn't remember since when did he started to see while the supernatural being started to go blind.

He had debated whether or not to inform the oblivious angel, but that was before he realized their communication had been severed.

And all too soon, it became one of those concerns that didn't matter anymore.

For spirits were numb to concerns.

And spirits could only repeat–again and again and _again_–the moment of death.

It happened all of a sudden. Like when he woke up one day he found himself already trapped in an endless time loop.

There was always this sharp pain in the head and he would woke and find himself watching Castiel with resentment and guilt. Repeatedly.

He had tried changing it, tried to think about his life. His life before he died anyway.

He'd been to Heaven once–though he was later forcefully drugged away–and he remembered reliving peaceful memories there. But being trapped on Earth trying to think about past memories wasn't the same.

Biggest understatement.

There was no peace. Only resentment.

He had tried–_hard_–to remember Claire's smiles and Amelia's sparkling eyes.

It was like trying to keep water in cupped hands.

Things just didn't work that way as he was frozen. By time.

And before he knew it, he started to suffer from grave memory damage.

What could he say? There was only so little thing he could keep as the flow of time passed right around him. Little emotion. Little memory. Little everything. And he couldn't choose. He could only keep those he had the moment he died.

Borderline anger. Resentment. Sorrow. Guilt. Pains. Regrets.

That's about it.

He was about to loose everything else.

And the irony of it was that he wasn't even allowed to feel the panic and lost as his memories were taken away.

The day came almost too soon for the liking. The day when everything else–other than watching and hating the angel–grew pointless and all faces forgotten. Though he still remembered Amelia and still remembered he had a daughter named Claire, he couldn't make himself to care anymore and the names turned into meaningless echoes. He even forgot the reason he wanted to remember.

There was this pain. Sharp and white-hot.

He blinked. Then stared. Glared.

As always, Castiel was the dead center of his focus.

It wasn't clear, at first, why no other soul attract his attention this way. Like a super magnet. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to. Not that he wanted to.

Jimmy–with so much uncalled time–eventually discovered the reason.

Borderline anger. Resentment. Guilt.

At Castiel. At Castiel. At Castiel.

It didn't matter what the angel were doing. He just glared.

At Castiel.

But deep down he knew. The paradox state they were in was more than partially his fault.

Jimmy just refused to see it.

Though there was this occasionally reminder. From the angel. Again.

Of course Castiel didn't do it deliberately.

The first time it happened because the last Winchester went missing for a few days longer than expected. And the angel's flawed sense of logic told him drowning in addictive substances and stopping his–no, not _his_–body from functioning would somehow bring Dean back.

Maybe it was the near-death experience. His body couldn't contain the angel so well when it was dying.

Anyways.

Jimmy saw Castiel's wings that day.

And it was so different from the last time the angel unfurled them from the corporeal vessel.

If any man were to see it, they would sure vomit their inside out in disgust.

The wings unfurled in a way like they were a mass of something too massive trying to claw through physical restrains. There were this gushing sound as the tips finally burst free and Jimmy was disturbed–which in human term would be shocked into shitting himself–to see the ends were like covered in what looked like thousands of twisting charred teeth and skeletal baby hands.

Teeth and hands that kept falling off, and_ still moving_ and crawling all over the place like some kind of supernatural bug. Though always within a few feet radius of the angel.

It didn't take long to know what they were.

Feathers.

Thence, Jimmy figured it was probably what rotting angel corpse looked like.

It brought slight frown onto his neutral feature as the sight somehow reminded him of a time when he met Gabriel, a creature with the glory of a pagan god and the magnificence of an archangel. It wasn't the first time they met, though technically, it didn't count as a meeting.

There was a reason for this particular memory to stick. For it was the main cause for his guilt.

For it was the first time ever, he did the angel anything close to harm.

It was minutes before the other angels' abandonment and it was a meeting Castiel would never remember.

"Time to go, little bro." The semi-god had said. Though there's no place for a renegade angel in Heaven, there's still a place beside a caring big brother aka Trickster.

Jimmy had always hypnotized himself into believing the angel had stayed for Dean's sake. It was that Winchester's fault that caused Castiel to wind up in this fucking miserable state.

But the truth?

Dean might have provided the tacks, but it was Jimmy who nailed him in.

Dean, who had let Castiel grew so weak from emotions, allowed Jimmy a fraction of a second to take over control.

"No." Jimmy had said. "He can't leave."

And the moment was lost and as the Trickster snapped his fingers, Castiel jerked awake and for the first time ever gasped for air.

Fact was, Jimmy had taken away the angel's chance to choose. And no matter how sure he was that the angel would stay, he wasn't a hundred percent positive.

It was that. The guilt that still haunted him. Taunted him. How he had totally screwed the angel and had probably resulted in the death of both of them.

It was one memory Castiel won't remember and Jimmy won't forget. Ever.

Pain. Sharp and white-hot.

Blinked. Stared. Glared.

Again.

He couldn't change the routine. Goddamnit!

Couldn't look away. Couldn't raise his eyebrows or purse his lips. Couldn't even change his cursed expression to more than a slight frown! It was no wonder ghosts frighten people to death.

And…

Castiel looked at him. Back.

That was…new.

"Dean…"

_"No. There__'s only me. Jimmy."_ It came out like a rasp. Like wind blowing through a hollow.

"Dean, are you there?"

Jimmy almost sighed. Almost. What did he expect anyway? Castiel was blind. Could no longer see. Could no longer hear. The dead-mortal angel was only dreaming.

Didn't stop Jimmy though as he crouched beside the supernatural being with whom he had–and technically still did–share a room, the supernatural being who was already dropping back into Wonderland.

Though many spirits that chose to remain weren't vengeful at heart, most turned hostile as time pass. Decades for some, years for others. What with being trapped in an endlessly repeated circle and people ignoring you despite the obvious haunting you tried to pull just hoping to make a _change_ would sure drive anyone crazy. In Jimmy's case it was barely over three years, a surprising short time considering he hadn't used to be a homicidal serial killer.

And as Jimmy traced the outlines of the physical manifestation that caged a disfigured angel within though couldn't really touch him, he discovered just how twisted he was when he realized he wanted to break his last tether to the real world.

And wanted it bad.

Castiel was a surprisingly good aim even if he was better at swordsmanship, what with all the millennia of training. But still it came a time when he unintentionally held the shotgun at a perfect angle for suicide during a practice.

Jimmy was watching then as he thought about the out come if the gun just happened to go off and blow a hole in the angel's–his–head.

Strangely it didn't so much as surprise him when the gun obeyed his will and went off–though missed. It was like he had always known he had telekinesis power. Only in dormant. And it was the day he had finally woken it up.

But there were limits.

Like the subconscious urge so strong it prevented him from straying too far from his flesh, he could only work his mojo if the consequences somehow involved the angel. An example would be him causing a thick branch above Castiel to snap with mere thought but couldn't force other random branches to budge.

But no, it was more like a _wouldn't_ than couldn't. It was a contradictory thing as he couldn't even bring himself to want to try. Everything outside his instant was strictly restricted. Thus included wanting or _thinking_ about them.

He ended up tipping crates onto Castiel's paths just to annoy him and smashing alcohol bottles as they sometime made him uncomfortable with guilt.

The action might look like playing pranks but it sure didn't feel like it.

There was no fun side or interesting side. Only a big empty nothing.

Jimmy did it for the sake of doing it.

It wasn't like he could do anything else. It wasn't like he could stop. And inevitably, the pranks he played slowly turned deadly.

Nobody would know just how close he had come to killing the girl.

Selene.

Jimmy was boiling with rage as he held the partly shattered vermouth bottle glaring at the pair lying in a tangled mess of moans and gasps.

How dare of her to corrupt a celestial being.

And how convenient it would be to slit the girl's throat with the jagged end of the glass.

But he held himself. He held himself because Castiel suddenly jerked awake, so innocent and hurt, as he looked out the window.

Jimmy didn't understand why he hadn't murdered her that day.

And Daniel became the first victim of his to die.

But well, he didn't actually kill the man himself. He just created an accident–so easy to do that in days like this–by taking the firing pin from his gun when everybody was mulling over a piece of paper.

Jimmy just followed and watched as things go out of control.

Castiel, so noble of him to volunteer to go after the man that was sure to die or already dead. Castiel, sealing his death by telling his companions to leave without him. And Castiel, ambushed in the annex store of the gas station.

Jimmy just couldn't make himself to leave the poor angel alone.

He couldn't.

He never tried to.

And with a small flick of his finger, he mentally jammed the gun and watched as the Croat–Daniel–slam Castiel into a shelf.

It mildly amazed him how strong was the angel's survival instinct. A sheer piece of glass was enough for him to take a life. But sadly, things didn't and there.

A shelf fell. Trapping him at the mercy of the Croats that was crawling all over the place. Not even a hand grenade could save him.

For a brief second, Jimmy wondered why the angel didn't just let the bomb explode in his hand and have it done with.

For a brief second, Jimmy considered himself giving the angel too little credit for his strength of character.

And things got bloody after that.

Jimmy watched as flesh was torn, as blood was spattered. And he alone listened to the pathetic cries and knew that no help would ever come.

The feeling was somewhat like wanting to punish Selene or Daniel–or even Dean.

Jimmy didn't know.

He just emptied the gun in his hand. The gun he hadn't realized he picked up.

It was a one-sided slaughter.

He didn't know how much he longed to feel flesh and bones of the living ripped apart by his own two hands. He didn't know how much he loved the sound of it if he were the one actually causing it.

It was probably envy.

It was probably envy as he squashed their skulls and let their brains bleed.

It was probably envy as he ripped out their lungs and livers with silverware.

It was probably envy as he spilled their guts and intestines.

It was probably envy.

Being a Croat beat being dead.

At least. They could feel.

And the thought sent ripples of shock through Jimmy as he come to the impossible understanding that maybe,_ just maybe_, being a Croat beat being an angel.

Because. If not for the bloodlust instinct, Croats were still humans.

Because. They could still feel.

Jimmy sank a hand into the angel's rib cage as he crouched beside the angel and felt a living heart pumping. Their heart.

He didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know what to do.

And he ended up leaning forward and planting a kiss on his own lips.

There was no taste. Jimmy couldn't even feel the warmth of another man's skin. God he didn't even remember what warmth felt like.

But he didn't stop. Castiel was the only thing that still meant anything to him now and he wanted to turn the angel inside out. To make him cry and beg and to damn his dignity.

So he ended up trailing his kisses as Castiel whimpered and moaned. Letting his hand fall through the angel's clothes without much thoughts and cold fingers to slide under the remaining tattered garments to touch bare skin that were sure by now be burning with internal flames that he couldn't so much as feel. And caressing the skin on the shoulder blades and down the spine, watching with slight interest as the angel arch his back in a seductive way.

Jimmy gave up after a while and was somewhat frustrated at himself for not being able to rape properly as he wasn't able to make himself hard. Another downside for being a ghost.

So he just waited. He waited for he was sure Castiel would touch himself when he regained conscious. He made sure of that.

What Jimmy didn't expect was that it wasn't lust but _innocence_ that made the angel do something that made even him–a goddamn spirit–want to repulse.

Yet. It was a sight to behold.

He actually gasped–almost hyperventilated if he was totally truthful with himself–as he watched Castiel fucked the corpse.

The angel unfurled his blackened wings again and this time, flipped like in some kind of tortured ecstasy and choked in tears as he came.

It was beautiful. In a twisted and sickening kind of way.

Jimmy still watched as the angel passed out again, from exhaustion as much as from blood loss.

Strangely though, for the first time in a long while, Castiel seemed peaceful in his sleep.

* * *

_I'm sorry to say it but this chapter is INCOMPLETE._

_I've said it before but the story contains only two parts if not counting the epilogue, so I **won't** be dividing this chapter either. Like before, I'm going to add new scene into it during regular up-dates. And once again, I apologize if it caused you discomfort in any way._

_Anyway, thx for reading. Please R&R._


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